


Max Caulfield and The Neverending Sleepover.

by AntiChri5



Series: The Neverending Sleepover [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Kid Pricefield, LGBTQ Themes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-29 23:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13937553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntiChri5/pseuds/AntiChri5
Summary: Max goes to extremes she never thought possible and sacrifices herself to create a new timeline where she never left Arcadia Bay, giving her younger self a simple opportunity. To be there for Chloe, during the hardest time of her life.Because Farewell's ending cannot be allowed to stand.





	1. A Future In Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max refuses to let anything stand between her and a new future for a different Max and Chloe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the many, many, many, many fanfic ideas I have had squatting in my brain for a while now. The original plan was not to get started on this for a loooooooooooong while, but then Farewell happened, so the schedule.......was altered.
> 
> I never wanted to be one of those people who split their focus between more then one fic, but Farewell left me little choice.
> 
> This series will try to strike a balance between fluff and angst, but as it will mostly be Max helping Chloe grieve, there really has to be some angst. Not nearly as much angst as this first chapter though.

Max stood in the bland hotel room, looking into her younger self’s red rimmed eyes in the mirror and trying to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. After more than a year of research and planning there was a lot to forget, and it wasn’t like she had been able to bring a note book.

First, she needed to get changed. Crossing the room to the bag she was supposed to be checking, before this Max had taken one of her first selfies, she opened it up and started rifling through it’s contents in search of appropriate attire. It took her a good while. 13 year old Max hadn’t exactly chosen her wardrobe for blending in while committing crimes.

After eventually settling on black jeans and a navy hoodie over a grey shirt, Max stripped out of her formal black dress. The only thing she had to wear to a funeral. Thank god she had only had to wear it twice.

But, if this went according to plan, only one of those would be a part of this reality.

Dressing as quickly as she could, Max opened the door and surveyed her first obstacle.

The shimmering, burnt orange distortion which marked the boundary of her photo-jump. Everyone would perceive it differently, according to legend. Because it wasn’t actually there. The barrier was a defence mechanism, her power’s way of keeping her mind from breaking at the attempt to interact with too much of the world too far back. And so, filtered through the psyche of a photographer, it looked like burning film.

Max placed her hand against the barrier, shuddering at the sensation. Relatively recent sources referred to it with terms like “psychic strain”. Older ones referred to it as “The Witch’s Burden”. Max had had to force herself to finish that particular mouldy old tome.

Warren had a different term. “Temporal backlash.”

Whatever it was called, it was like chewing off her own arm.

More than simple pain. A tense, queasy, feeling of wrongness. Knowing she was damaging herself irreparable, every self-preservation instinct of her mind and body shrieking at her to stop.

She took a step forward, shuddering as more of her body made contact.

Everything other than the pain was forgotten now, eclipsed by the sheer scale of the agony burning through her small form. Max would have screamed, if her body hadn’t locked up so completely it refused to respond.

Whatever it felt like, it was what was keeping her from saving Chloe.

Yes, it hurt, but Max had come to know pain. Not even this bone deep agony could compare to returning to that bathroom, knowing Chloe’s last memory of Max as she bled out, abandoned one last time, would be her leaving from William’s funeral. Because this fire raging through her was temporary. It wasn’t a pain she would have to live with, a permanent change to who she was as she spent day after day with the image of Chloe standing by her father’s grave, broken and alone, burned into her brain as she tried to think of any way a mere text or letter could do a thing to help. And knowing that her silence was even worse. This was nothing compared to the shimmering hatred she had felt begin to fester, as she watched the town Chloe saved forget about her.

With a deep _wrenching_ somewhere in her brain, something inside her breaking between the unstoppable force that was her love for Chloe and the immovable object that was the boundary enforcing the laws of time, Max stepped over the threshold and into the hallway.

Max smiled and spat the blood out of her mouth.

Part one of the plan had gone off without a hitch.

 

* * *

 

Getting transportation had proved easier than Max suspected. Arcadia Bay was a small enough town that a little girl stealing cars would have been big news, so the few people who noticed her peering in windows and preparing to put the skills Frank had taught her to use simply thought it part of some childish game. It helped that she and Chloe had gotten up to stupider things, in their antics.

Getting the rest of the of what she needed had been even easier. It turned out an innocent looking little girl could get away with a ridiculous amount, if she was confident and collected enough to avoid giving herself away.

The sun had set less then an hour ago, and the sky was already dark enough that her crime would be noticed fast. Raising her hand, Max fell back into the familiar flow of her power as time unwound around her. It had been so long. The power flowed easily, not overtaxed as it had been during the last times of the week which gave her the power but cost her everything. Max watched the clock wind back until it was one minute after her parents had asked her to grab the last of her stuff from the hotel room before they left Arcadia for good.

Getting out of her stolen car, Max retrieved her gear from the trunk and crossed the road, walking past the “ **FOR SALE”** sign. It hadn’t been updated. Good. She had been fairly sure the sale wasn’t finalized until later, but it was nice to have more evidence of that. She didn’t want to have to bankrupt her family.

The house was all locked up, but she knew it in the way only someone who had lived in a house for years could know it. She knew which floor boards would betray the presence of a teenage girl wandering around the house listlessly, too anxious to sleep but too tired to do anything else. She knew which window would unlatch if you pushed hard on the lower right corner and rattled it _just right_. She knew Mrs Henderson next door was the only one with a view of that window, and she had her weekly card game down the road right now. She knew which room would have the best light in the morning, and which were hard to see in at night.

Max was grateful that the house was empty, barren of furniture. It was so much easier to see it as just a house, that way. Not the home that had sheltered her during the most vulnerable time of her life.

She went room to room, ignoring memories in each one as she did what she came to. It really had been a wonderful home. She had had a good life, here. Her biggest issues had been in her head.

But she knew where that future led. No matter how many good memories it held, how many good moments it would have, it would never be worth it. _Could_ never be worth it.

Max checked her watch and lit the match, dropping the tiny flame to the gasoline soaked carpet.

She didn’t stay to watch her Seattle home burn.

Max put the empty gasoline cannister back in the trunk, next to the three full ones and was back in her stolen car, speeding away, before the flames were visible from outside the house.

 

* * *

 

Parking her car at the third house her parents considered purchasing in Seattle, Max repeated her routine. Rewind until it was a minute since the last one got a visit from a mysterious arsonist, go in, torch the place, drive off. It had been easier with these last two. They weren’t even memories to her, just addresses on a list, places her parents mentioned considering before deciding on their new home. Thank god none of them had been occupied.

But the success of part two meant it was time for the worst part of her plan. Pulling up at her target, Max cleaned the blood from under her nose with deliberate care. The long rewinds had taken their toll, but she couldn’t afford to leave DNA behind.

It was a good thing she had so much time.

Unsurprisingly, Andrew was the last to leave the office, walking out the glass doors towards his parked car. He loved his job in a way very few people _could_ love selling houses. That was what made this so difficult. He was exactly the kind of man who would still go into work the day after being handed five million dollars. Max had researched him very thoroughly, eager for any excuse to make this easy, but the worst thing she had discovered about him was his habit of wearing socks with sandals. He was just a good man, without much of a social life, who genuinely loved finding and providing the perfect home for a person or family.

Max stepped out of the shadows behind him and broke his knee with a wrench.

As he screamed and fell to the floor, Max brought the wrench down again on his elbow, shuddering at the crack and scream that accompanied another breaking bone.

Andrew wouldn’t be selling houses any time soon.

Picking up the last can of gasoline, Max shattered the glass door with her wrench and made her way into the office.

No one who worked here would be.

It had only taken one hour with a stolen laptop to make investments in Andrew’s name that would, in time, more than cover his medical bills. A time traveller with time to do their research and prepare in advance could accomplish a lot, even with a lower middle class 13 year old’s pathetic savings. It would still take a lifetime to get the screams out of her head.

Max was oddly relieved that she wouldn’t have to bear that burden for long.

Part three was complete, god forgive her.

Getting back in her car, Max began the long drive back to Arcadia Bay. To Chloe.

 

* * *

 

Part four of her plan was always going to be the hardest. It was so tempting to skip ahead and make sure part five was out of the way, but part four was the most important. Part one had simply been about getting the opportunity to carry out part’s two and three. As awful as those were, they were all carried out for the sole purpose of creating a situation where part four was possible. It would be a lot easier to convince her parents to let her stay in Arcadia Bay if there was no home waiting for her in Seattle.

Everything had been leading to this.

Max made her way back to her hotel room, past the astonished parents who had been looking for her for hours. Closing herself back up in her room and leaning against the door, Max grit her teeth to ignore her parents attempts to get in.

Once more, Max rewound. The ease with which it had come was now gone – she had never tried to rewind so much time and she had been doing it so frequently. Over a year of rest had been undone in a single day of intense rewinding.

Eyes on her watch, Max ended the rewind a minute after she had finished her crime spree. With all her travel and preparation time rewound away it would appear, to the outside world, as if three empty houses and an office were set on fire while a man was assaulted, all in five minutes as part of some sort of co-ordinated attack. And Max Caulfield never left her hotel room.

Max reached up to wipe the blood from her eyes.

And frowned in surprise when her left arm failed to respond.

It hung at her side limply, no matter how hard she tried to move it.

So she did the best she could to clean up with the one trembling hand.

Then Max grit her teeth and knocked on the door to her parents hotel room.

Her fathers face was solemn as he opened the door.

“Max, honey, do you need help gathering the last of your things?”

“No. We need to talk.”

Ryan Caulfield nodded calmly.

“I have been expecting something like this,” he stepped back and gestured at the small table and chairs in the room. “Take a seat.” Vanessa moved over from where she had been putting the last of her things away.

After collapsing into a chair, Max wasted no time.

“I can’t leave. Not now. Not like this.”

“Max, I know that this is beyond tragic, but we have a whole knew life waiting for us in Seattle. I start my new job next week. Your mother a week after. You are already enrolled in a new school. This isn’t……you aren’t abandoning her. It’s just……life”

“I didn’t say anything about you and mum. You guys can go, start that new life. But I’m staying.” Max kept her tone calm and even, hoping her parents would find it mature.

“Max, you are thirteen years old! You don’t get to decide that kind of thing yourself.” Her mother frowned at her father’s tone and Max noted it.

Her mother had always been prone to babying her. She would respond well to emotional appeals, but was far less likely to allow Max to live in a different city. Her father, by contrast, was less gentle if no less loving. An emotional appeal wouldn’t work. But he respected independence. She just had to find an argument for it that wouldn’t seem like she was contradicting his authority.

“I know, dad, that’s why this is a conversation and not an explanation.”

That came out a little firmer than she wanted, but it kind of worked. Ryan leaned back with a raised eyebrow and a calmer expression. Parental authority respected.

“Maxine, you can’t be serious,” Vanessa shook her head.

“I can’t leave her like this. I _can’t_. She has been my closest friend for as long as I can remember. Whenever I have been down, my every moment of weakness, Chloe has been there for me. If something happened to one of you, _nothing_ would be able to drag her away.”

Success. Her mothers eyes misted and she looked away.

“Max, as important as friendship is sometimes you need to look out for yourself. You can’t just put your life on hold and leave your family to play amateur therapist. Chloe needs real help. Not someone almost as traumatized as she is digging into her life.”

Fuck. Progress with her mother but a setback with her father. She needed to do as much as she could to get them on board before they found out about the house. If only she had more time, she could have waited until after they found out there was no home waiting for her in Seattle. That would have made this so much easier.

“Yeah dad, let’s talk about me. You are the one who is always talking about how important this part of my life is. How it can decide who I am for decades to come. What will leaving Chloe like this do to me? Who will it make me? Will I be someone you can be proud of, dad, abandoning my closest friend when she needs me most?”

Ryan sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Max, I can tell you have put a lot of time and thought into this and…I will admit I am impressed at how…..assertive you are being. I didn’t think you had it in you. I wish there was another solution, I really do. There are still weekends. I promise to drive you down at least once a month. But…..”

“……..you are _thirteen_ ,” her mother continued.

God damnit. Max had to resist the urge to shout that she wasn’t. Soon enough she would be gone, for good, and thirteen year old Max would be back in the driver’s seat. It was her job to prepare the way, give this Max enough time with Chloe that she would know how badly she was needed and that she _could_ help. So that she would fight tooth and nail to be there for Chloe.

“I’m not going to be trying to get my own apartment or anything! I have spent half my life in Chloe’s house. It’s less change than if I went with you.”

Vanessa shook her head sadly. “Max, I know that this is hard-“

“- You have no fucking idea how badly leaving like this breaks me!”

Max grit her teeth as her parents looked at her in shock. Fuck. This wasn’t likely to help.

Her arm might not be responding, but she didn’t need it. She had rewound while tied to a chair and being abused by a psychopath. Her own body giving out wasn’t going to stop her. She closed her eyes and fell back into the familiar currents, rewinding away the outburst and trying a different argument.

She made some progress, before blundering again. When she rewound it away and opened her eyes, she almost jumped from shock. Opening her eyes had made no difference. She clawed at her face frantically, not finding any surprise blindfold to remove. She swung her head from side to side, Opened and closed her eyes. And then, resigned, she rewound away her reaction to discovering her blindness.

She would just have to fake it.

And so she did, trying out argument after argument in increasing desperation. Rewinding to avoid blunders, rephrase arguments, pre-empt her parents arguments and to use information gained to get any edge she could, as she had so long ago at Blackwell.

Trying to find that perfect combination of words to make her parents see things her way.

She never found it.

Her body failed her bit by bit. Arms, eyes, legs. Before long Max couldn’t even shake with terror at her self-inflicted damage. She didn’t give up until the sounds her parents made were an indistinct murmuring, until her own mouth could no longer form words. She had driven her body far beyond what it could bear. There was simply nothing left to work with.

So Max finally admit defeat, with communication rendered impossible. She didn’t notice as her parents rushed to her, frantic to stem the blood she couldn’t feel flowing from her every orifice. She didn’t notice being rushed to the hospital. She had already slipped into a coma by the time the doctors started trying to diagnose her.

Because she had failed. She had failed part four and hadn’t even started part five of her precious fucking plan.

And so Max Caulfield, photographer, time master and partner in crime, died.

Her last thoughts were of Chloe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest in peace


	2. Miracle Max

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe's life is in ruins. And only a miracle can turn that around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very small chapter, written and posted at the same time as the first chapter, because leaving it where I did would have been a crime against humanity.

Chloe Price sat in a sterile hospital room and wondered how the world could end in a single week, with no one noticing or caring.

It had been four days since her father’s funeral. Since Max fell into a coma. Three days since Chloe went from listening to a recorded message endlessly to rushing to the hospital. Two day since she was sneaking around, listening at doors to try and find out what had happened to her first mate.

Then, in a meeting between Max’s parents and the Doctor’s that she wasn’t supposed to be hearing, amid a sea of indecipherable medical jargon there had been one term which had been as direct as a knife in the gut.

Braindead.

Her Max, her best friend, sidekick on a hundred adventures and lead role on a thousand more, was gone. She was lying right there, pale and freckled and so damn cute, but she was _gone_.

Chloe hadn’t left Max’s bedside since finding out. Nurses, doctors and security staff had cajoled begged and threatened. She hadn’t even noticed. Eventually, they left her alone. It wasn’t like she was causing trouble. She just sat there, eyes fixed on Max’s still form. Refusing to even blink until her burning eyes forced her to.

She wasn’t going to take her eyes off Max. Off what was left of Max. The empty shell in the hospital bed might not be much, but it was all had. She had already lost so much.

Maybe if she was patient enough Max would……….wait, no. Chloe couldn’t just wait around. She always got such good grades, maybe if she went back to school and studied and studied and studied she could figure this out. So much about the human brain still wasn’t understood. It would take years, but maybe she could make some breakthrough and……

Maybe.

Maybe maybe maybe.

Maybe if she found a dark altar in a hidden temple and sacrificed a fucking virgin whatever vicious god had taken over Chloe’s life would relent for a fucking minute and **_give her back._**

She didn’t even realize she had spoken the last part aloud until she heard her voice bouncing back at her.

It was enough to break the floodgates.

Chloe hunched over, burying her head in Max’s lap as she sobbed out a simple refrain. Three words, repeated over and over and over in a desperate plea.

“……give her back give her back give her back giveherbackgiveherbackgiveherback……”

Chloe had never been religious. She never had anything against religion, she just wasn’t raised with any particular faith. So it wasn’t a prayer she sent out, there was no god or specific entity she hoped would hear or answer.

It was just a general plea, to a world that had been so very beautiful until so very recently. A child’s cry that the “real world” she had spent so long hearing about not be _this_ hard, _this_ brutal. That it show a little mercy, and not take _everything_.

The gentle hand running through her hair almost stopped Chloe’s heart. And then the _voice_. That beautifully familiar voice.

“I’m so sorry Chloe. So, so sorry.” Max said gently.

Chloe blinked the tears from her eyes, gaping up at her best friend. Her miracle.

“Max?” She whispered.

“Yeah Chloe? Uhm, why am I in the hospital?”

“Max! Max Max Max! MaxMaxMaxMaxMaxMaxMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAX!”

Chloe threw her arms around her friend, pulling her into a close hug.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean, _you don’t know_?”

Chloe found it hard to blame the doctor for flinching in the face of Ryan’s fury. They were in the doctor’s office for a meeting Chloe was only included in due to her steadfast refusal to let go of Max’s hand.

“I _mean_ that unless your daughter has two minds in that head of hers this is medically impossible!”

“How about you stop making nonsensical statements about my daughter’s mind and _use your own_ to figure out what happened! One minute you are telling me that she is braindead and the next that she is perfectly fine. When I ask what caused this you just shrug and say “ _stress?_ ”. Why was it _a question_ , Doc? And your best advice for treatment is to keep her calm and stress free? We are moving to a new city to a house that was just torched by some random fucking arsonist and one of the family’s closest friends just died. We are all _pretty fucking stressed_.”

Vanessa placed her hands on her husband’s shoulders, kissing the back of his head and looking to the doctor.

“Would it be better for Max to avoid change, right now?”

Ryan looked up in shock.

“’You can’t be talking about what Max brought up at the hotel, ‘Nessa?”

She nodded. “With everything that has happened…….I think we should call Joyce, love.”

Chloe glanced at Max, who shrugged. Apparently, the last thing Max remembered was arriving at the hotel and taking a picture of herself. Whatever this conversation was, Max wouldn’t be filling in the blanks for her.

 

* * *

 

Max frowned in her sleep, the crease in her brow barely visible in the faint light filtering in through Chloe’s window. In the near darkness, Chloe’s room was transformed. The unfamiliar shapes that were the various boxes and bundles containing Max’s possessions should have been strange and threatening, transformed into intruders by the poor visibility.

Instead they were treasured reminders of the impossible stroke of luck she had had. The unbelievable arrangement her mother had come to with Max’s parents, even if they had been sure to stress that it was temporary.

The deal which meant her best friend was in bed curled around her, where she would stay for at least a month. She and Chloe had talked for hours, hands intertwined as Max’s eyes got heavier and heavier.

Until she had fallen asleep literally on top of Chloe, who had settled back and attempted to join her. She had had such a hard time sleeping, lately, and she was still a long way away from being okay. But with every warm minty breath that puffed out of Max’s mouth and across Chloe’s cheek, the tense knot of emotion that had been in her chest since the moment her mother got home from the grocery store lessened, just the tiniest fraction.

Chloe slipped into a gentle, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, temporary. Yeah right.


	3. Nothing to say.......

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you put your entire life on hold to help someone during the hardest part of theirs, you at least expect to know what to say to them. But as Max attempts to comfort Chloe, she finds that the words just won't come.

**_One month since the death of William Price._ **

 

Max woke slowly with early morning light filtering in through Chloe’s window and onto the two girls under the covers. Turning to face her friend, Max did her best not to show the stab of pity she felt when she saw Chloe staring up at the ceiling.

“Morning, Chloe, did you get _any_ sleep this time?” Max’s voice was timid and sickeningly sweet, the over the top gentleness she couldn’t stop from creeping in time after time annoying even her.

Chloe huffed out an irritated breath. “Few hours.” Her voice was rough, words forced past parched lips.

When was the last time she had anything to drink? Chloe hadn’t been taking good care of herself lately, she had lost weight she couldn’t afford to and her strawberry blonde hair had lost it’s lustre. Max worried her bottom lip between her teeth, as the words she needed failed to materialize for the thousandth time.

No matter how long and hard she thought, it always ended the same. Chloe laying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Eyes empty, hollow. While Max sat there uselessly. So far all she had done was eat the Price’s food, something Joyce assured her was appreciated, as she couldn’t seem to stop making too much for a family of two.

Max still felt like a burden. In the month since William’s death the Price household, once a place of light, easy laughter, had been consumed by an echoing empty silence. An absence filling every corner of the familiar home. And Max just stood there, knowing that she needed to do something, but never _what._

There hadn’t been nearly as much crying as she had expected. TV and movies had taught her that there should be tears and sobbing, but so far Chloe and Joyce had mostly gone through their days with a dull numbness, caught in the grip of a pain too deep to acknowledge without losing themselves to it entirely.

Joyce spent all her time at home mustering the strength to go into work, returning home each day to immediately shut down. The guilt Max had felt at first, for being a financial burden in such a tough time, had faded to confusion when she learned that her family was sending more than enough money to cover what she was consuming and that William’s life insurance had been enough to provide for his family for a good while.

Max didn’t understand until she stopped by the Two Whales. Saw Joyce back in the familiar environment. The blank expression fell away from her face. Replaced by a polite, If tense, smile. It wasn’t the exuberant warmth she had once filled the diner with, but it was a remarkable change. There, in the diner she had been working at for years, Joyce could let go and simply step into her role. She wasn’t a widow, a recently single mother, a woman who now had to make her way in the world alone after having found a partner. She was a waitress and her concerns were the plate in her hands and the customer in front of her. It wasn’t glamorous or exciting work. Many, mostly assholes, would say it wasn’t even important work. But it was still something for Joyce to lose herself in. A routine. A part of her life that hadn’t changed forever, in a single brutal moment.

Framed that way, it sounded like Joyce was abandoning her daughter, and Max had to fight of a stab of self-loathing at the thought. Chloe’s mother had done everything she could to reach out, but every time she did the grieving girl turned away. Often literally. While Max just…..sat around feeling sad about it. Like right now.

She wasn’t able to fight off the self-loathing at that thought.

Groaning, Max rolled out of bed and stumbled out of the room, careful not to look at Chloe. Until she actually had a way to help, being overloaded with sympathetic grief wouldn’t accomplish anything. The Price house needed something more than another woman consumed by sadness.

Padding to the bathroom, Max brushed her teeth before stepping into the shower, doing her best to ignore the slowly growing mess and disorder taking root in the wake of Joyce’s grief. It was amazing how much of a mess a bathroom could become in only a month.

The hot water was a wonder, her body feeling like it was coming back to life after the cold stillness of the house she had slept in. Max turned the heat up and tried to think. Trying to find the right words wasn’t working. She had been doing it for a month and made no progress. At this point she was clearly asking something of herself she simply wasn’t capable of. Social skills had never been her strong suit, this situation was so far out of her reach that ever thinking she could find the right words was a level of arrogance which now appalled her.

She needed a new approach.

Something that played to her strengths? Max snorted. There was no way a photo could help. But what the hell else did she have? For all her childish fantasies of being a super hero, she was just a girl. Not even a particularly smart or strong one. She raised her head, the water stinging her eyes as it washed the tears away.

She scrubbed as hard as she could, scouring her body with a vengeance as she contemplated. Even if she _could_ think of something worth saying, there was no guarantee she would be able to do it right. Anything that could make an impact had a chance to backfire, hurting instead of helping.

Even the book on coping with grief which she had borrowed from the Arcadia Bay Library had been no help. Any single page in that thing would make Chloe roll her eyes. Taken all together, she would probably set the damn thing on fire.

Maybe Max should just wander Arcadia Bay asking people. Surely _someone_ would have an answer. Unless there _was_ no answer.

Max froze, hand extended half way to the tap.

Maybe there was no answer.

Maybe the reason Max couldn’t find the right words wasn’t because she was useless, a failure of a friend. Maybe it was because there _were_ no right words.

No words could change the fact that a third of the Price family was gone. No words could fill that absence. William had been an amazing husband and an even better father and now he was dead. And there was nothing _to_ be said.

He was gone and never coming back and that was _complete bullshit._ A speech couldn’t change that.

There was nothing Max could say. But maybe there was something she could _do_.

Max finished her shower in record time, before towelling herself dry so aggressively she was surprised the towel didn’t burst into flames, then struggling into clean clothes.

Leaving the bathroom Max rushed down the stairs, almost losing her balance several times.

The downstairs area was even more of a mess than upstairs. In the living room the scattered detritus of Max and Chloe’s last pirate adventure, instead of being properly stowed away, was now buried under the random crap of everyday life, insistently accumulating in Joyce’s usually well cared for home. The kitchen was no better with seemingly every piece of cookware, cutlery and crockery the Price’s owned piled up and awaiting washing.

She and Chloe had been laughing and cuddling here just a month back. It already felt like a lifetime ago.

Claiming one of the last clean cups, Max filled it with water.

Her path back upstairs was far more careful, her cargo treated with a reverence unwarranted by something so utterly mundane. Standing outside Chloe’s room, Max hesitated.

A month spent wondering what to say, only to decide to rely on actions instead of words, and now she was caught wondering what to say _as_ she relied on actions. Ridiculous. Max opened the door and stepped into the room.

Nothing had changed during her shower. Chloe was still lying back on the bed, staring at the roof as if it held the answers to why the world would do this to her or how she was supposed to go on.

“Chloe?” Max asked tentatively, taking a few steps forward.

“Yeah Max?” Chloe said through parched lips.

“I….uhm, I got you a drink.”

“Thanks Max.” The grieving girl muttered, making no move to take the glass or even sit up.

Max gritted her teeth, stepping to the bedside with as much resolve as she could muster. She held the glass over Chloe’s head and began to tilt it.

“Chloe, I am leaving this room with am empty glass, so either sit up and have your water or open your mouth and I will aim as well as I can.”

Chloe snorted and rolled her eyes, sitting up and holding a hand out for the glass. As soon as the water touched her lips, her eyes widened with surprise and she tilted the glass back, gulping down eagerly.

As she drained the last drop, she licked her lips and looked down at the glass with a frown, as if finally realizing just how thirsty she was.

“Thanks, Max, I……Thanks. Uhm, would you mind……?”

She held out the empty glass and Max took it with a smile, dashing out of the room and down the stairs. This time she _did_ lose her balance, her feet slipping out from under her as she reached the last step. Max landed on her butt with a thump and a muttered _ouch,_ but wasted no time leaping back up to her feet and into the kitchen to refill the glass.

She couldn’t make things better, couldn’t bring back William. But she could get her thirsty friend a drink.

Max glanced around the dirty kitchen.

And then she could clean up.

Maybe there _was_ nothing to say. But there was a lot to _do_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short, but this is a very simple chapter with only some set up, a shower epiphany and a touch of very vague foreshadowing. Better to have a short chapter than pad it too far.
> 
> As always, any and all forms of feedback are welcomed and encouraged.


	4. ......but something to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, I haven't updated since April. Sorry. The angst part of this fic has been slowing me down like you wouldn't believe. The important thing is that this fic isn't dead and the angst will give way to fuff next chapter.

**Two months since the death of William Price.**

Max pushed the vacuum along the living room carpet, stopping as she reached the couch. Turning the vacuum off for the moment, she stepped forward to one side of the couch and bent over to get her hands underneath it. Grunting with effort as she lifted, Max only managed a step or two before she had to put it back down. But that was okay, she didn’t exactly need to move it far – just out of the way. Moving to the other side of the couch, she repeated the process so that the couch was now moved back, the front of the couch roughly equal to where it’s back had been and the space underneath it now exposed.

Max wasted no time, turning the vacuum back on and thoroughly cleaning the now exposed carpet. Once finished, Max turned off the vacuum and steeled her resolve.

_So what if it is heavy, I only need to lift it for a second or two._

After some grunting, a lot of sweating and a little bit of swearing she had the couch back in place and the Price family living room was officially _done_.

Max couldn’t allow herself to fall into the trap of being _too_ satisfied, though. There was still laundry to be done and Joyce would be home soon – she wouldn’t be able to cook dinner without the washing up taken care of.

As Max turned to face the kitchen and hallway, she froze at an unexpected sight.

“Max, what the fuck are you doing?”

Chloe’s appearance had been steadily improving, even if it had yet to fully recover. Her clothes were clean and she had regained most of the weight she had lost now that Max was bullying her into eating, but her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, the crying fits Max had been surprised to find absent had finally claimed Chloe and seemed to be working hard to make up for lost time. Her hair was still unkempt and matted, since Max wasn’t quite bold enough to try and follow her into the shower and help with _that._

“Uhm, my taxes?”

The joke lacked confidence and failed to distract Chloe, who frowned.

“I mean this…..hard core chore binge you have been on. You are my friend, not some damn maid. You don’t……have to do all this stuff.”

_Someone does._

“No, maids dress a lot nicer.”

The ratty t-shirt and old shorts which had become her unofficial housework outfit would have probably made a butler cringe. Like the last one this attempted joke got no real response, so Max continued nervously.

“Uhm, why did you come down here? Did you finish your homework already?”

_That is one thing I certainly can’t help you with._

“Nah, fuck homework. It’s not like the teachers are gonna make an issue of it. Everyone at school is still in this big competition to see who can be the most obviously sympathetic.”

_“Fuck homework?” That……doesn’t sound like Chloe. But……she is actually paying attention to the outside world now. Noticing how people treat her, that I have been doing housework. That’s…..progress, right? Recovery? Maybe……..the Chloe who comes out of this is going to be very different to the Chloe who went into it?_

Max had to fight to keep herself from shuddering at the thought. Change may be inevitable, but as she had recently learned, it wasn’t always for the best.

“I just……” Chloe continued. “Thought we could…….I dunno, hang out? You have been here forever and we barely even talk.”

A stab of irritation was quickly quashed by the guilt of being annoyed by her grieving friend. Max’s attempts at making conversation, as halting and insufficient as they had been, had never even seemed to register.

“Yeah, sure Chloe.” Max said. “Uhm……what did you want to do?”

“I don’t…….I don’t know dude, let’s go to my room?”

“Okay.”

Max followed the young blonde up the stairs and into the familiar room, doing her best to mentally calculate how much time would be lost to this interruption. Maybe if she skipped the laundry she would still have time for the dishes?

Chloe slumped back into her bed, looking at Max with a raised eyebrow while the photographer stood there.

And stood there.

And stood there.

“Jesus Max, aren’t you gonna say something? Or, like, sit down?” Chloe patted the bed beside her.

Max eyed the bed uncertainly. Before William’s death, she had spent so many nights curled up in it with Chloe that it was one of the few things which hadn’t been shattered by the loss. It still represented warmth and closeness.

A gentle darkness that never managed to be scary the way her room at her own house could sometimes be, when she didn’t have comfort always within arms reach beside her. Just dark enough that any judgement in prying eyes was hidden away, and secrets too fragile for the harsh light of the sun were allowed to slip from tired brain to unwatched lips before spilling forth.

Max looked at Chloe’s bed and remembered a thousand conversations that needed to be whispered, and not only because they were supposed to be sleeping. Insecurities confessed and soothed away, monsters hidden from, jokes giggled at and curious questions answered.

The Sleepover Bed was a powerful thing indeed, and Max knew for a fact that if she so much as sat down on it she wouldn’t be getting up.

Because she was _exhausted._

Max had done more housework in the last month then she had the rest of her life, and it had taken it’s toll. Her arms and legs ached, hands were raw from scrubbing, back felt like it was occasionally being stabbed and eyes drooped with the need for sleep.

And she didn’t even want to _think_ about all the homework she needed to catch up on.

With all that she had done Joyce and Chloe would be having a much easier time, able to get back on their feet in relative peace and comfort. So it was all worth it, now she-

“It’s like you will do anything to fucking avoid me lately! I thought….I thought there was one fucking ray of hope in all this bullshit, dad’s dead and nothing makes sense anymore but at least I fucking had you. The one good thing, my best friend _wasn’t_ leaving. Except…..you fucking have. You are still here but you are just…..not.”

Max gaped down at Chloe. This was…..What? But……

The anger on her friends face crumpled like the flimsy façade it was and, bereft of it’s fire, Chloe was just…….bereft. She gazed up at Max with a terrible emptiness, eyes hollow and face blank. Heartbroken.

Max had tried _so hard._ But it hadn’t helped.

“I’m……I’m sorry Chloe it…….I didn’t mean to I just…..”

Her voice died off pointlessly, utterly unable to communicate last months epiphany. Chloe’s face managed to fall even further at the lack of reply before she turned over and pulled a blanket over her head, a dismissal clear enough even for someone as stupid and useless as Max Caulfield.

A thousand and one. A thousand and one times she failed to find the words she needed.

Max stumbled across the room, gathering up discarded garments before numbly going out the door. She took the stairs quickly, driven by a need to leave behind room and scene both. Too quickly, as it turned out. On the last few steps she slipped, dejected haze doing nothing to help the normally clumsy girl as her foot went out from under her. She landed on her butt without a gasp or whimper before soundlessly regathering the laundry she had lost hold of.

Max found the few laundry items which had managed to make their way downstairs before stumbling to the washing machine. Trembling hands slowed her down, but not enough. She left the comforting rattling drone of the Prices old washing machine behind and made her way back into the kitchen. Joyce had to be able to make dinner. She was already dealing with so much, losing her husband, she didn’t need any more useless fuckups ruining……any more problems coming up when she got home.

Water, hot enough to burn away stupid wea…..to kill bacteria. And soap, nice and foamy, enough to scour away all the _fucking filth._ Less force, there was no need to splash water everywhere and if she broke a glass……the last thing Joyce or Chloe needed would be having to clean up Max’s fucking blood. Long, even, slow, gentle strokes. Firm, pressing down with the brush, but not _angry._ None of this was the poor glass’ fault.

Joyce got home before Max finished, the door opening and the tired waitress stumbling in to find her kitchen a mess. A few muttered greetings later Joyce went to the lounge room and Max was free to hurriedly scrub and dry her way to completion.

Joyce was sitting at the table as Max finished, staring down at a framed picture of her husband with a haunted look in her eyes.

_Fuck._

The tired girl stopped instantly, unwilling to even consider interrupting _this_ moment. Two months and so little had changed. Joyce and Chloe were so consumed with grief that nothing Max did seemed to help.

Or…….maybe something _had_ changed? There was something new in the haunted look on Joyce’s face. Guilt.

For some reason, Joyce was feeling _guilty_ about William. Maybe something had happened at the diner? A customer made a thoughtless comment or……something? Max couldn’t think of what else Joyce had to feel guilty about. At times Joyce started to blame herself for needing to be picked up from the grocery store but some half developed social instinct of the thirteen-year-old girl was telling her that wasn’t the issue here. Whatever was eating at Joyce was both too big and too new to be connected to that.

Max watched, biting her lip, and then left. She didn’t know what to do. Just like with Chloe.

Quietly Max made her way to the bathroom, slipped out of her clothes and into the shower. Her shaking hand turned the hot water too far, but that was fine. The stinging heat made the wrenching tension in her chest less noticeable as sound of the shower drowned out her sobbing and the water washed away her tears.


	5. Drowning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For months, Max has been falling apart as she focuses everything on helping Chloe deal with Williams death. As everything goes wrong at once, she finally reaches her limit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah.....sorry about the perpetual delays. Late chapter is better then no chapter and this time it comes with a bonus side story! The side story isn't posted as a MCatNS chapter, as it isn't essential reading for the story, but it is in my opinion important and definitely something I wanted to write. If not something that was particularly fun.
> 
> This chapter marks the transition to what I always wanted the main focus of the story to be. Which makes it even more embarassing it took me so long to post. Oh well. I hope you enjoy the end of fhe angstfest and the beginning of the.....friendship fest? I dunno man you come up with a name. Friendship is great, go hug a buddy.
> 
> This chapter also marks a slight departure from something established in BtS. In this story, Chloe is not yet at Blackwell as of her fathers death. Still going to the same school as Max.

**Three months since the death of William Price**

“So, uhm, I was just wondering if I could get an extension?”

The hopeful tone of Max’s question didn’t survive the cold composure on the teachers face, shifting to an anxious whine by the end.

“Miss Caulfield, was it _your_ father that died?”

_Don’t even fucking bring that up!_

“No! But he was still family, and, and I have been helping out the-“

“Miss Caulfield, like the other students you have had _ample_ time to complete the assignment. If you have failed to adequately budget your time that is _your_ issue, and hardly a matter which would justify an extension. I have been a teacher for thirty years.”

_It shows, baldy._

“In that time I have heard it all, dead grandparents, hungry pets, Illnesses, stolen text books, closed libraries. Not _once_ have I seen fit to grant a student an extension. So tell me, Miss Caulfield, what do you think that means?”

He leaned back in satisfaction, quirking an eyebrow as he waited for a reply from the quiet student.

“……..that you’re a dick?”

 

* * *

 

Fucking detention.

Just for telling Mr Dougan what everyone thought of him. Hell, if anything she had sugar coated it. If he could hear a quarter of what the students said about him the whole school would be on permanent detention. But no, he somehow failed to notice that he was the most disliked teacher in school. And now not only was she getting a 0 but she had lost her Saturday!

Her precious, precious Saturday.

She kicked the brick wall she was walking past, then hopped about clutching at her toe.

And now her foot hurt too!

“What…..what did you e _xpect_ to happen?”

The expression on the face of the blonde walking next to her was suspiciously close to amusement.

“You weren’t exactly going to bring down a brick wall with your tiny Caulfield rage,” Chloe continued.

‘Don’t underestimate my tiny Caulfield rage,” Max warned gravely. “It’s brought down Empires!”

“Maybe in our dreams,” Chloe snarked back, offering Max a shoulder.

The last thing Chloe needed now was to have to literally carry Max around. Testing her foot and finding it could support her weight Max waved Chloe off and limped forward, not noticing the way her friends face clouded at the refusal.

“Max Caulfield, in detention. What has the world come to.”

“It’s not _that_ surprising, Chloe.”

“Definitely a first. Completely unprecedented. But hey it’s not like you had plans with anyone.”

“I was bound to get detention eventually, Chloe.”

“Just think of the poor dishes that will be going unwashed. Sitting there alone and unloved. But hey, maybe you could find some chores to do in the classroom they use for detention? Place could probably use a vacuuming.”

Max grit her teeth. As if she was doing all that crap because she liked it.

“Or maybe I can finally take a break. Kick back and relax,” Chloe stopped before Max’s sentence had, looking at her friend as her face flashed from one emotion to another too quickly for Max to follow.

“Yeah, have fun with that,” the taller girl turned and strode down the road to the corner of Santiago street. Max frowned. It would take five minutes longer if they went home that way. Stumbling, she turned to follow her friend.

“Go the normal way, Max. Wanna be alone right now.”

The shorter girl stopped, gaping at her friends back. They had walked home together every day since……since they were old enough to do so. Every day she walked from school to Chloe’s house to hang out until one of her parents was done at work and came to pick her up.

Every day.

Mumbling under her breath, she walked back to the Price house alone.

She beat Chloe there, of course. Chloe’s longer legs allowed her to set a faster pace, but she had spent so much time adjusting herself to Max’s speed that she did so unthinkingly now, even when Max wasn’t around. It was just how she walked.

Max wasted no time. She didn’t have long before Chloe got home.

Grabbing a fresh towel, she made her way into the bathroom, stripping off and stepping into the shower. Letting out a shuddering breath as the water hit her, Max began to sob softly.

Another month of chores and things had only got worse. Any second not spent with Chloe was interpreted as an insult, but whenever she _was_ with her best friend she managed to say exactly the wrong thing and a _ctually_ insult her.

She sobbed again, raking a hand through her hair angrily, only to freeze at a knock on the bathroom door.

“Max? Max I can hear you in there,” Chloe’s tone was impossible to make out through the door and over the shower.

_Fuck, she was home already._

“Are you…..are you okay?”

_No. No I’m fucking not, Chloe. The only person doing worse is you._

“I’m-“

“-Wanna be alone right now!”

Max managed to choke out, interrupting whatever Chloe was going to say.

The only response was the slamming of Chloe’s door, almost ten seconds later.

The next day was just as bad.

Another failed assignment at school, the prospect of a detention looming tomorrow and, worst of all; the call.

Every week, Tuesday and Saturday. It had been one of the main conditions of her extended stay in Arcadia Bay. And so far, it had been great. She had always been close with her parents and being away from them was hard. So a regular call had been a godsend. Even if they spent most of it worrying about her.

Until she had gotten detention set for when she was supposed to call them.

Rescheduling to have the call a day early had been easy. Explaining why……..not so easy.

“ _Detention_ , Max?”

_Saying it that way isn’t going to make it any less true, Dad._

“Yeah……..uhm, sorry?”

“We aren’t angry, Max…….you don’t have to apologize. It’s just that, is this the sort of thing that would have happened before? You misbehaving in school after we leave is _bound_ to make us reconsider the arrangement.”

“It, it’s just detention Dad. _Everyone_ gets detention at some point!”

“You never have before,” he pointed out.

“I’ve never been a _teenager_ before. Some of the stories Grandma tells…….Dad, you got detention _all the time_ when you were a teenager.”

“Yes, and I want _better_ for my child.” There was genuine anger in his voice now. “No parent wants to watch their child make the same mistakes they did. So don’t you bring that up or take that tone with me, young lady.”

“But Dad-“

“Max, I know that this is a very…….stressful time, but that is exactly why you need to be with family.”

“ _I am.”_

The phone was silent as her father either considered her words or gaped in shock. Max struggled to get words out through a throat that felt like it was swelling shut.

“I love you both _so so much_ and I think we need to do these phone calls three times a week because the thought of this argument eating up one is making me sick. But Chloe and Joyce and William…..they are family too, and the only way for me to deal with……with William is for me to be here for them, to help any way I can.”

_Not that I have been._

The heavy sigh that answered her made the knot of tension in her stomach clench tight.

“Joyce _has_ mentioned how much you have been helping out. It’s……very responsible of you, Max. It has always been such a struggle to get you to do chores……. You _are_ right about needing another call. I have a lot to think about, and some time to calm down would do us both some good. Would Sunday work for you?”

Max shuddered out the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding in. A stay of execution, at the very least.

The rest of the conversation was short, shallow and distracted. Both Caulfield’s more interested in preparing arguments for the next call than with exchanging platitudes. When goodbyes were said, and she could put down her phone Max wasted no time in heading back to her sanctuary.

The sweating had already started by the time she got to the bathroom. Not a good, honest sweat like she would work up in PE with heavy drops rolling away, but a clammy sheen that clung jealously to skin gone even paler than usual as it went numb and tingled in turns.

Locking the door behind her, Max stumbled into the Price house’s combined shower and bath tub, turning the taps with a jerky motion before her legs gave out beneath her. It wasn’t until the lack of cold ceramic on her skin registered that Max realized she had forgotten to take her clothes off. She was just sitting down in the shower, fully clothed, as the cold water battered down and soaked her.

The absurdity was too much and suddenly she was laughing. Hysterical little giggles she simply couldn’t contain.

_I can’t even **shower** right!_

A sob escaped among the giggles and before Max knew it she was crying as much as laughing, water splashing into her mouth from the showerhead up above and needing to be spat and sputtered out of a mouth she had almost no control over. She didn’t shut if off though. The noise of the shower was all that kept Chloe from-

“Max, I can _tell_ you aren’t okay in there!” Chloe pounded at the door. “Taking two or three showers a day makes it pretty fucking obvious. Just let me in.”

None of the excuses Max desperately reached for seemed good enough, so she put her hand over her mouth to muffle any more sobs.

“Fucking fine then,” Chloe snarled.

Something went out of Max as Chloe stormed off, anxiety and hysteria both following her away and leaving an aching nothingness in their wake. Like there was nothing left to feel.

She leaned forward and put her head between her knees, closing her eyes as the water rained across her soaked clothes, doing her best to breathe as deeply and evenly as she could. Time fell away. There was just her steady breathing. In…..out…..in……out. The sound of the water coming down. Splashing into the water of the filling tub and making more of a _plat_ sound as it hit her wet clothes. The sound of scratching and scraping at the door.

_Wait, why is the tub filling up? Oh, my butt is blocking the drain. Makes sense._

Then the bathroom door fell forward, bounced off the counter, and slammed onto the floor.

There standing in the doorway with anger in her eyes, a triumphant grin on her face and a screwdriver in one of the hands planted on her hips, was Chloe.

The falling water washed the last of the tears from Max’s face as she gazed up at Chloe, who stepped forward into the bathroom. She took one look at Max’s miserable, soaked form and stepped into the shower. The knees of her jeans splashed into the water as she kneeled down and pulled Max into a hug.

By the time she released her friend she was just as drenched.

The two girls dried themselves off, redressed, then sat down.

And talked.

* * *

 

Time creeped by with agonizing slowness. There was no hope, no joy, no warmth.

There was only detention.

The teacher at the front of the class cast another unsure glance past the scattering of bored students to Max. Mr’s Willow had always been one of Max and Chloe’s favourite teachers and she seemed very surprised when Max had walked in for detention.

Max didn’t think much of it, until two hours in the students were granted a brief window of freedom to use the bathroom, with strict instructions to be back within ten minutes. Except Max, who was asked to stay behind for “a word”.

Mr’s Willow made her way to Max’s desk slowly, concerned frown on her face only deepening.

“Max, honey, are you sure you are supposed to be here?”

“Uhm, yes.”

“You were always such a responsible student. You _never_ make trouble. Well, unless you and Chloe distracting each other counts I suppose.”

“Y-yeah I said something I really shouldn’t have. To uhm, Mr Dougan.”

The concern in the teachers face vanished, replaced by a coldly formal anger.

“Ah. Him. Don’t know why _I_ am stuck on detention duty when he is the one who sent half these students here.” Max almost missed the muttered complaint, it was so soft. But also because what she just saw out the window was taking most of her attention. Not giggling was taking up almost all of the rest.

“How on earth did he find an excuse to give _you_ detention?”

“Well, uhm, what I said really was out if line, even with how, ahem, _insensitive_ he was being.”

Understanding dawned in her teachers eyes.

“Ah, _insensitive._ Yes he does that rather well, doesn’t he? What did he say about Chloe, Max? Or…….no, wait, it was William wasn’t it?”

Max’s eyes widened. Mr’s Willow was _definitely_ a witch. Hopefully she was limited to mind reading, not also seeing out the back of her head and into what was happening in the parking lot visible through the window.

“How did you……”

The teacher smiled. “It isn’t hard, Max. A _good_ teacher gets to know their students. The only thing that could provoke you so much is if he insulted Chloe. Or if it was about……what happened with William Price.”

Even teachers were afraid to talk about the car accident.

“The amount of times that man picked you up along with Chloe……It was like you were his second daughter. Would you like me to _have a word_ with Mr Dougan?”

Max almost teared up when the teacher validated her bond with William. She did her best to put on a brave face – it was so much easier now, after her long talk with Chloe. Mr Dougan was in another classroom right now, cursing students as he went about his self-appointed task of examining the undersides of desks for gum.

If he was confronted by another teacher, he might realize there were thousands of better ways to spend a weekend and storm off. If he did, he would almost certainly find Chloe kneeling on the roof of his car with a marker in one hand and can of spray paint in the other as she added the finishing touches to a series of impressively elaborate graffitied insults.

The smile Max’s face settled into was surprisingly genuine.

“It’s alright, Mr’s Willow. I really _shouldn’t_ have said what I did. I can accept my punishment.”

Her teacher smiled back.

“Are you _sure?_ He can be very unfair to students.”

Chloe’s hair shone a brilliant gold as the sun hit it. The grin on her face could only be described as “vicious” but it was still a grin.

“Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

* * *

 

Chloe twisted the screwdriver again before stepping back to eye her work and nodding in approval.

“So I can…..let go…..?” Max grunted.

“Nah not yet.  That’s only one hinge done. Keep holding it in place for now.”

Max groaned. Joyce had been surprisingly understanding about her missing bathroom door, not even asking questions so long as the girls “cleaned up after their damned foolishness”. Which meant Max and Chloe were officially in the handyman business.

Luckily, there had been no angry calls from the school so they weren’t going into the car repair business as well.

“I still can’t _believe_ you did that to his car.”

“Well, he is such a big fan of everything being proper I figure I was doing him a favour. Now Mr Douchman can drive around in The Douchvan with everything properly labelled.”

“Chloe, you know it’s Mr Dougan.”

“Not anymore, Max. Not anymore.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain the drawing on the other side. The one of him doing those obscene things with that turtle and that kitty litter.”

“An artist _has_ to follow her inspiration, Max. Surely you aren’t suggesting I stifle my creativity?”

Max giggled so hard she couldn’t keep her grip on the door. Fortunately for her, Chloe was done and they stepped back to eye the results of their labour.

It was a door. More or less the same as it had been. A few new scrapes. It hung a _little_ bit differently. But it opened and closed and as such it was the best work you could get out of a 14 year old and 13 year old who had far more important things to do - like hang out after months of stress and distance.

Glancing up shyly at her older friend, Max continued.

“I _really_ can’t believe you just jumped into the shower fully dressed, either.”

Chloe looked down at Max with the first real smile that had been on her face since the day her father didn’t come home.

“Yeah, well, all the cool kids were doing it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F R I E N D S H I P
> 
> The angst ends and fluff begins as Punk Chloe begins to emerge! Graffiti! Door dismantling! Can anything stop this master criminal? And I get to stop writing about a 13 year old taking showers! Finally! At least until the end of the work, I suppose.
> 
> If you have any interest, I strongly suggest you read the side story set between this chapter and the next, *Joyce Price and the Empty Christmas*. It's a bit different, hence being a side story and not a regular chapter, but offers valuable perspective on things that will be important.
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always feedback of all kinds is encouraged, valued and obsessed over. Expect the next chapter in a month....ish.


End file.
